


If You Were Awake...

by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for



Series: Johnlock Trope Challenge [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Challenge Response, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Horny Sherlock, Johnlock Trope Challenge, M/M, One Shot, Sexual Humor, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy John, Tropes, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for/pseuds/221b_careful_what_you_wish_for
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wants to sleep, but Sherlock has other things on his mind and knows how to use his voice to wake John up (in every sense).</p>
<p>For Day 22 of the Johnlock Trope Challenge: Voice Kink</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Were Awake...

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note that this is a series of one-shots for a challenge and these stories will be wildly different in style and tone as I try out some new things. They aren't meant to connect to each other in any way. There's a 48-hour window to write and submit these, so results may vary!

“John.”

It’s late and John wants to sleep. He ignores Sherlock. Probably wants something ridiculous like tea that he can very well take care of himself.

“John...”

John keeps his eyes closed, inwardly sighs. Pretends to be asleep. He feels the bed shift, Sherlock moving closer. He can tell Sherlock is looking at him, hovering. He tries to breathe evenly, rhythmically, as if in a deep slumber.

They’d been on a case all day, interviewing sources from one end of the city to the other, getting nowhere. John is exhausted, overloaded with information. Sherlock, he realizes, probably wants to talk about a new idea, some fresh angle taking shape in his mind. Tomorrow. It can just wait until tomorrow.

“You’re not asleep,” Sherlock whispers.

John almost -- almost -- smiles. He stirs slightly, playing the part of a disrupted sleeper.

“I’ll just keep talking,” Sherlock says, his voice low. “And you can listen.”

Damn. Was he really going to dissect the crime scene or a suspect’s alibi at this hour? John nearly gives up the ruse but stops when he feels Sherlock’s hand caressing his shoulder.

“Such a shame you're sleeping. If you were awake,” Sherlock continues, his mouth now near John’s ear, a deep vibration against the sensitive skin, “I might want to kiss you.”

John stirs again, this time involuntarily. Sherlock knows he turns to putty when he murmurs like that, knows he can be seduced by just his voice...

“And I might want to touch you.” His words are velvety in the inky dark, his fingertips trailing down John’s arm to his wrist and back up to his shoulder. “And you might want to touch me.”

John's blood hums at the suggestion, anticipating what might happen next. Sherlock could be quite different in the deepest hours of the night, quite… imaginative.

“We might undress each other in the dark, layer by layer, letting our clothes drop to the floor... and stand very, very close… our hands exploring,” Sherlock skims his hand down John’s bare back, “...and we might move against each other... warming up...” He presses into John’s back suggestively, and John can feel the heat of Sherlock's bare chest against his spine, a bulge against his tailbone, his mind filling with vivid images. Despite his earlier intentions to sleep, he's starting to get hard.

Sherlock moves away incrementally, is no longer touching him directly, but John can sense the molecules dancing between them. “Still not awake?” Sherlock asks, softly, teasingly. “I’ll just have to keep talking.” 

Sherlock lowers his head, dropping his voice down a register as he slips the words into John’s ear, alternating between a baritone purr and a sensuous growl. “And we might find the table, or better yet, your chair… and I might slide my hands to your hips, and across your thighs... And I might kneel down and guide you into my mouth, and all you can feel is the heat... and I circle my tongue… and you lift up, going a little deeper, in and out....”

John is now rock hard, about to lose this game, but forces himself to remain still, waiting for the ending.

“And I work you until you almost can’t take it a second more, but I might pull back…”

Sherlock says the last word with a click on the ending ‘k’, and it does things to John, that verbal idiosyncrasy...

“…and make you wait, and lead you to the bed... I might lie down with you, and let you draw up my knees…”

John is quivering, his lashes almost fluttering open.

“And I might ask you… beg you...” Sherlock pauses, his lips brushing across John’s ear, “to slowly, mercilessly, f--"

_Fuck me_ \-- John automatically fills in the words, his hips twitching with the thought --

"--fall asleep.”

John’s fantasy instantly disintegrates.

“You cock," he grumbles, rolling over to give Sherlock a playful shove, and Sherlock catches his arms and grins wickedly as he pins John’s hands over his head and descends on him, his mouth no longer forming words, but promises of sleeplessness.


End file.
